The King of Hearts
by Kyrri
Summary: COMPLETE!!!! (Finally) There’s a certain Auburn-haired Cajun Logan wants – but will he ever manage to get him? Lets find out, shall we… (slash warning; m/m pairing)
1. The Little Bird

The Little Bird 

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By Kyrri

**Title: **The Little Bird

**Author: **Kyrri

**Author's E-mail: **kyrrissean@hotmail.com

**Rating: **PG

**Series**: The King of Hearts.

**Summary**: There's a certain Auburn-haired Cajun Logan wants – but will he ever manage to get him? Lets find out, shall we…

**Disclaimer**: *sobs* Do I have to? *looks at no one in particular and takes the roaring silence as affirmation* OK, OK already – I don't own these characters. I don't get any money for writing these things! That is why it is called fanfiction – after all! 

**Warnings: **Contains slash, male/male pairings. If you find this offensive don't read it! Hit the Back-button! Or the Cancel-button – as it is. Also – I'm sorry if the characters appear OOC – I tried to keep to what I know of them, but if I didn't manage… sorry!

**Archive: **Ask and you shall receive. 

**Spoilers: **I haven't read a comic book in ages – so I have no clue what's currently going on – I can't spoil a thing…

**Notes & thanks: **This was inspired by Angel's Song by BJ as well as the 'Owning stories' by Psycho. I love referring to Gambit as an angel, even though I think he's both angel and devil in this relationship – or could be, anyway! E-mail me if I should continue! 

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*************

I know he's there – I can smell him. Smell that distinctively intoxicating scent that only the Cajun has – alcohol, cigarette smoke and that touch of French cologne mixed with the smell of warm flesh and blood. It's enough to drive me insane.

I want him – want to reach out and touch him; run my fingers through those auburn locks. To pull him close and hold him tight – never let him go. To have everything, to take everything – to make him mine.

A low growl escapes my throat, the animal within me stirring – reminding me, forcibly recalling to my thoughts that I can never have him. Not while this monster beats in my chest, not while it courses through my veins – slowly consuming me. 

I am the monster – the animal, the unworthy one. I could never strive to touch him – never! His scent plays havoc with my thoughts as I pass the rec room, catching a glimpse of him laying on the couch, flipping through the channels – so beautiful, so perfect, so utterly unreachable.

Sighing, I turn away from the sight of the lone figure stretched out on the sofa. I turn away from the one thing I want more than life itself – the one thing I can never have. For how can a monster like me ever own this angel?

Fallen angel, I correct myself, my mind filling with thoughts of those demon eyes as I glance over my shoulder to look at him, searching out the lean form on the sofa again only to find him gone from the couch.

He's standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, one ankle tucked neatly behind the other as those demon eyes focus on me. His left hand is curled around his glass of Scotch, his right lifting his cigarette to his lips as fiery coals study me – red on black and burning, searing, scorching its way into my soul. 

A small gasp escapes me – no more than a mere breath of air, but an exclamation of my surprise none the less. How had he gotten there? I had not even heard a whisper of cloth as he moved – I had not known that he could do it so silently, but my senses were sharp – I should have heard him.

I chided myself for not paying attention and turned around to face the angel, watching as the devil's fire glints in his eyes, as those perfect lips curve into a small, satisfied smirk. He knows that he surprised me. Arrogant bastard – he enjoys this too much, I think… I wonder at the expression on his face, the intelligence that shines behind those eyes – I want to know what goes on behind the angelic face, what burns behind that fiery gaze…

"Can Remy help ya, homme?" he asked softly, pulling the cigarette from his lips, those eyes seeming to burn more fiercely. "Tis only that it seems to Remy that ya've been pas' the rec room twenty times in the last thirty minutes." There was curiosity in that voice, but something else played beneath the surface – begging to be seen – wishing to be released.

Briefly I wondered what it was, before his words and their meaning hit me like cold water. It was true – I had been circling the mansion for the past half hour, if not more – always coming back to the rec room, always standing in front of the door to stare and I hadn't even noticed it. This obsession was getting out of hand. Way out of hand.

"No, Gumbo. I don't need help, I'm fine." The words sounded empty, even to me. And I could see the kid heard it too. He raised a delicately curved eyebrow at me, inquiringly – it made him look even more innocent. Hunger coursed through me. How I wanted him – I think he saw that too, because he smiled and gave me a wink. I wonder if he knew how he was tormenting me. He had to know. He had to have seen it. For someone with such an angelic appearance he could be quite a fiend.  

"Is there somethin' else, then, you wan' from Remy?" His voice was soft, coy, inviting – the harmonics alone caressed my hearing, reducing my thinking facilities to mush. I watched him as he brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip to catch the last drops as he drained the glass. 

Was he using his charm power on me? No, he's simply to alluring for his own good and you're the King of Wishful-thinking, the little voice in the back of my head scolded, trying to force reality back into place – trying to make the aching in my loins go away. The kid was only playing with me – flirting, like he did with everyone. I shouldn't expect anything to come of it. 

I turned to leave, saying simply over my shoulder in a gruff voice. "No, kid, you should get to bed – dawn will be here in less than four hours." I didn't want to watch him flirting with me, didn't want to get my hopes up – heartache lay that way – I knew. It hurt too much already. I had been there before and the angel with the demon eyes could never want the monster.

"Lo-Logan," his voice broke half-way through the name and the entreaty in that tone made me turn to look at him, "please don' go." I watched him in shock – he wanted me to stay. I couldn't believe it. Why would he possibly wish me to remain? "Pl-please," Gambit's voice broke again, almost as though he had to force the words out – as if he was loath to say them. Loath to find out where they would take him, "don' leave moi." 

I could hardly refuse his request – I could refuse him nothing and I knew it. "I'm right here, Gumbo." I answered softly, my mind unable or unwilling – I did not know which – to analyse what he was asking for. "I'm not going anywhere." 

I watched as his lips broke into a grin – removing the haunted look that had been there moments before. And that's when I took a closer look…

Remy looked as though he had not slept in days, dark circles emphasising his glowing gaze as untamed locks fell into his eyes. He smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and alcohol – to much alcohol. He wasn't drunk – not entirely. The Cajun had just reached that point where he would be less guarded – which explained why he would make such a plea. Gambit did not usually ask anything from anyone.

Save, perhaps Rogue – he had asked her for something and she had not only refused to give Remy what he wanted, she had left him to die – in more ways than one. I felt the stirrings of anger – I had yet to teach the Southern belle a lesson. How could she leave him like that – simply desert him when all he had asked for was love and understanding. She'd broken him, I could see it, but he was recovering – if slowly.

I let my eyes travel over Remy's lean from – so beautiful, so innocent, so vulnerable. I froze – Gambit never looked vulnerable, but he did now – he was waiting for me – I could see it. Waiting for me to do something, to say something – waiting for me to reject him, I realised as I watched. As I saw the grin fade – he thought I would reject him… 

The longing and surprise in his voice when I did not struck me as he spoke again, sounding hopeful. "You no hate Remy?" He'd never looked so young, so fragile. It made me want to take him into my arms and kiss all his pain and fears away. It made me want to protect him and for a moment I almost did these things – I surprised us both by hugging him, pulling him to my chest and whispering in his ear. "No, Remy, I could never hate you, never!" It wasn't all I wanted to say, but it would do for the moment.

The empty glass crashed to the floor, shattering on contact – sharp shards scattering throughout the corridor as he let out a sob, tears running down his cheeks and into the material of my black shirt, darkening it further, as he let his head rest on my shoulder, as he allowed himself to be held.

I could hear his heart beating, fluttering madly, like a small bird against the bars of its cage – desperately trying to escape. The floodgates had opened and I held him, listening to that little bird flap, seeing the broken glass on the floor – watching them glint over the Cajun's shoulder. They seemed almost alive – beautiful, but beyond repair. They reminded me of Remy, somehow. Was he beyond repair? I refused to believe it! The seraph had fallen, but he would get up – he'd survive; he'd become hole again and I would help him. I was determined to help him… 

Slowly the muffled sobs receded, but the bird was still flailing madly – refusing to calm down again. Hesitantly I ran my hands down his back, stroking him softly, whispering soothing words that had no true meaning, but held understanding and love. Those things Remy desired above all else – those things I so badly wanted to gift him with.       

And then I imagined I heard another sound – the sound of an iron door being slowly and deliberately closed; the sound of a little bird being chained down as Gambit pulled away – coals lightly sizzling in his gaze.

"Remy's sorry, mon ami. He go now." And before I could react he was gone, walking quickly down the corridor. I could see his muscles straining to brake into a run, but he kept it under control as I watched in shock, wondering whether I had done something wrong. Wondering what the little bird was running from…  

The television blared in the background and the glass crunched under my boots as I moved, pulling me from my thoughts. Slowly I looked down, afraid for some reason, I cannot fathom, to see what lay on the floor… the last glowing coal of Remy's cigarette sizzled and died where it lay on the tiles in a small pool of amber liquid. I hadn't even know that he had dropped it and for some reason the dead black bleakness of the white stump filled my mind with apprehension… 

Quickly I moved into the rec room to turn off the television, before I went to fetch a broom to clean up the mess in the hall and hopefully the dread in my soul as well. My eyes travelled around the room until they settled on the couch. The Cajun had left his trench coat hanging over the back of the sofa, the top of a pack of cards just sticking out of one of the pockets.

I stared at it – Remy didn't go anywhere without those two things – he must have been very upset to forget them. I was put in mind of the little bird again – fluttering wildly. The mad beating had taught me something tonight – I wasn't the only one afraid of heartache, but I was the only one who could teach Remy that sometimes you had to take a chance. 

I wouldn't watch Remy's fire sizzle and die – I'd show him… it was time to stop running. I'd take what I wanted – the angel would be mine and maybe, just maybe the animal would learn to sleep and the demon-eyed seraph would learn to trust in love again. Maybe he'd allow the bird to fly free…

Moving to the couch I picked the coat up and fished the packet of cards out of a pocket. The deck had been shuffled recently and the card that lay on top when I opened the packet and pulled them out of it made me grin. The image was ridiculous and I let out a wry chuckle, for hilarious as it may have seen to me it was quite appropriate. I'd make sure the little bird would fly free and I'd give the seraph a kiss for him, even though…

Wolverine was far from being the King of Hearts.      

The beginning 

A/N: What ya think? 


	2. Moonlight and Shadows

Moonlight and Shadows 

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By Kyrri

**Title: **Moonlight and Shadows

**Author: **Kyrri

**Author's E-mail: **kyrrissean@hotmail.com

**Rating: **PG

**Series**: _The King of Hearts_

**Summary**: Remy is having a few problems as of late. Will he run again?  

**Disclaimer**: No, no! You can't make me – they're mine! All mine! Mwhahahah! *Representatives of Marvel Comics come towards me, baring a large black suitcase and a lawsuit* Fine already – so I don't own them. *sob and looks at representatives questioningly* Can't I at least have Remy's coat? *takes the glares as a no* Fine, fine then! 

**Warnings: **Contains slash, male/male pairings. If you find this offensive don't read it! Hit the Back-button! Or the Cancel-button – as it is. Also – I'm sorry if the characters appear OOC – I tried to keep to what I know of them, but if I didn't manage… sorry!

**Archive: **Ask and you shall receive. 

**Spoilers: **I haven't read a comic book in ages – so I have no clue what's currently going on – I can't spoil a thing…

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I raced down the corridor, my heart beating frantically in my chest – each leaping bound taking me further away from Wolverine's searching gaze. Each frenzied emotion blazing through my mind with renewed force as I race away – desperately trying to escape. Anxiously wishing that the world would go away and leave me be – that reality would crumble and set me free of this torturous adventure called life.

My mind refuses to remain still, continuing its frenzied rush into chaos and my body follows suite, forcing me into physical action as I launch away into the darkness of the corridor, having kept my straining being in reign until I turned the corner. Until Logan's eyes could no longer follow my passing form.

This wasn't right – nothing was right! The world seemed dark and endless, stretching out before me in all its vastness – still, silent and utterly empty. Nothing… Nothingness stretched before my minds eye and I swallowed deeply, trying to separate the truth from the vision – fighting to see the stairway stretch before me instead of that frighteningly vacant hole that now filled my gaze. That now filled my future…

The stairs swam before me as I lurched forwards, grabbing onto the railing to save myself from ending face first against the bottom step, as fresh tears began to streak down my cheeks. I hated it… For God's sake, get a grip of yourself, LeBeau! This isn't like you… fight back. Why is Remy running like a coward? 

Oh, but I am a coward. I might as well run like one. To afraid to face them, to afraid to face Logan – what would he think of me now after I had broken down right in front of him? My throat constricted as I let out a sob, the stairs still seeming far too rickety for me to ascend as I hold onto the railing for dear life. Like a drowning man I clutched at it and I was drowning – drowning in my own guilt and self-loathing.

It was no wonder Rogue couldn't love me – couldn't want me – not with the skeletons I had in my closet, not with the iron chains that bound me to drag those ghosts of memories along with me forever. I'm broken, damaged, unworthy – how could she or anyone else ever want me?

More tears broke free, leaving me feeling empty and disgusted with myself – I had had enough of tears – I wanted no more – I could take no more. The stairs swam before me as I opened my eyes and I blinked them shut again, before trying once more. Focussing on a point just two-steps above my feet and climbing slowly. The headache behind my eyes almost unbearable – throbbing madly.

I grimaced in pain, but the irony of it crossed my mind as well, wrestling some sort of grim humour from my thoughts – weren't you suppose to get the killer headache and vertigo the morning after you imbibed a large amount of alcohol? 

I managed to reach the top of the stairs without incident and let out a sigh of relief, before turning round to look back down – I immediately regretted it and my hand tightened on the railing as the world spun round – slowly grinding to an agonizing halt as I let my gaze fall to the floor. And who'd ever said too much alcohol was a bad thing? Perhaps not on its own, I thought wryly, but mixed in with an emotional brake-down makes for a lethal combination.

Emotional brake-down - what a lovely turn of phrase – why not just say I'm fucked in the head and get it over with? It was a turn of phrase the Professor would use – when he was in a mood to lecture, which he always was. Something you'd hear walking out of a psychiatrist's office. "Yes, Mam, its nothing to worry about really – he just had an emotional break-down and will have to see the doctor again next week. Truly nothing to worry about – happens all the time…" 

I shook my head – the imaginings of the phantom whispers of the receptionist echoing through my mind – nothing to worry about… happens all the time… It doesn't happen to me! I don't want this! What on Earth did I do to deserve this? 

But I can answer that question only to readily – it was all my fault – everything… the massacre – all those people and now Rogue. I deserved whatever hand fate dealt me – I deserved it all… the rejection, the hatred, everything…

My gaze dropped to the floor again, eyes trailing over the carpeted landing of the stairs – I couldn't deal with this – it was too much, simply too much! I needed… I didn't even know what I needed anymore, but I wouldn't find it here, of that I was certain. 

I turned away from the stairs and glanced on into darkness – the only light coming from the window at the far end of the hallway. Moonlight and shadows playing across the floor as I watched – marvelling at the simplicity of it all. Just black and white – no grey… just light and darkness. Now if only my life could be like that… 

Things would be perfect.

"Yo, Cajun!" A gruff voice pulled me from my thoughts and made my heart beat more quickly, I would have been surprised if Logan couldn't hear it – thrashing wildly in my chest like some mad beast, frantically wishing for release.

Slowly I raised my head, turning my gaze away from the moonlight playing across the floor and quickly rubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand, pushing back locks of auburn hair – something was missing… but I could not think what at the time – Logan was waiting. Just as slowly as my prior movements had been, I turned around to glance down the stairs at the figure standing there – half encased in shadow; half enfolded in light.

Logan was looking up at me, with my trench coat casually draped over his arm – so that's what had been missing. I must have been in a real state to have forgotten it and I felt my cheeks start to burn at my forgetfulness or more correctly the reason for my forgetfulness. Sure that Wolverine would see my discomfort I tried to conceal it by leaning against the railing and appraising him thoughtfully. "Yes, mon ami?"  

He looked at me questioningly for a moment and I found myself drawn to his gaze – to the silvery eyes hidden in the shadows as the moonlight played over his face, making him appear mysterious and in some little way almost mystic. I could imagine the storm clouds rolling within those eyes, the mist clearing away the silver to present the clear blue skies when he is amused and clouding over again in anger, literally within the blink of an eye.

I cocked my head to the side, to better study him, letting stray locks of hair fall over my eyes as I lean back against the railing, neatly tucking one ankle behind the other. This new perspective playing havoc with the shadows falling across his face, making them shift and dance as I now see the light fall from a new angle, tenderly caressing his strong features. The rugged appearance and the wild black hair, that simply beckons you to run your fingers through it to try and sort out the mess, gently illuminated, but pocketed with darker patches.

I wanted to touch him – the shadows seeming to whisper upon his skin – soft and silken, enticingly magical in the pale light, but somehow I knew that if I were to lay a hand upon him the spell would be lost. Shattered and broken, gone forever. It would be far better to remember him this way and never give fate a chance to destroy this image with the reality of crushed dreams. With the starkness of the simple truth – no one could ever love me. No matter how I would yearn for it – they would not. It would be better to lose myself in this moment and treasure it, than pursuing anything. I have had enough of heartache and tears – better not to feel at all, better to end it before it can even begin.

He held out his arm to me, lifting the trench coat for me to see more clearly as I watched. "I think you forgot this, kid." I can distinguish no true tone in that voice, nothing – I don't know what he wants – whether he has judged me or not. All I can see is his hand and arm uplifted towards me, reaching out – begging me to come closer. And for a moment I almost imagine that he's offering me more than the simple return of my coat – that perhaps the outstretched arm can be likened to the hand that is offered to a drowning man as anchor to help pull him from the torrent. For a second I almost let myself believe that Wolverine was offering to be my anchor, to save my soul from the rushing maelstrom. For a fraction of a second I wanted him to be just that, I wanted him to be different from the others – I wanted him to want me.

Here's to wishful thinking. 

It's better to be alone, Remy, I think to myself. You can't get hurt that way. If you lock away your heart no one will ever find it. No one will ever hurt you again. My thoughts are desperate, chaotic – thrashing about in darkness. I wasn't built to be alone – I need someone to be there. I need to be loved! But I will not find that here – not in this place. Soon this place will become just another memory, with nothing to hold me to it – they rejected me after all. I was not worthy to be a part of them.

I can practically hear the lock click shut as I turn the key. Never again, I would never allow anyone to get close enough to hurt me again. But something in the way Logan looks at me makes me pause – my coat is still extended towards me in entreaty as he waits for me to reply, as those cloudy eyes strips my soul bare for the world to see. I felt an old stirring brake through the shield of my determination as I watched him waiting and just for that moment I wanted him to unlock the door again for me… just for that moment.

Brutally I force my thoughts away from such errant pathways and nod my head towards him, straightening up and taking one quick step down the stairs, reaching out with my hand to take what is mine from him. "Thanks, mon ami. Remy doesn't know what came over him. He's glad you would think to bring it to him." 

 I'm not the only one that moves; he starts up the stairs, shortening the distance between us – his sudden movement making the shadows conform around his body and play over his features. Black on white and hiding something beneath its simplicity. Black on white and somehow no less complicated than if it were to contain every shade of grey in the universe. 

My hand brushes against his, sending thrills travelling along my spine as I take the coat from him, nodding my thanks again and inclining my head towards him. He just smiled and turned to descend the stairs again, not saying a single word and I'm loath to watch him go. Loath to watch the shadows cover him in its enfolding embrace as he moves back down the stairs and out of the moonlight – leaving the world surrounding him the purest black – the simplest colour. The only colour that is in truth of fact the lack of anything else – devoid, empty, pure. 

Black could be far purer than white if you ask me. But the two extremities are both at heart perfect, untouched. Neither of them truly exist, for darkness is the lack of light and light the lack of darkness. But I've always felt save in the shadows – a thief until the end.

As I watched Logan move away – gliding into those shadows I realised that I really did not want him to go, I knew it and still I watched him travel down the stairs, never turning back to look at me, simply focussing on some nameless destination. I stared as he left, raising the hand that wasn't clutching my trench coat to my chest in silent entreaty towards his broad back, my mouth opening to say words that never came out. But he was gone before I could force my unwilling body into action, before I could climb the last few steps and head back to my room again… 

I turned on the landing, moving off into distant darkness towards the pool of light caused by the window and paused on its very edge, for some reason reluctant to step into it. Reluctant to reveal myself to the cruel world. Even as I locked my heart further away in that distant corner of my being, where I wouldn't feel its aching so badly – I had cried enough, I had nothing left to give and there was nothing at the mansion that could bind me to it.

The wind shifted outside the manor, playing with the branches of the trees, making them dance and sway in the night – their shadows following suite in the pool of light, reminding me – making me think of stormy grey opening up onto clear skies. There was nothing to keep me at the mansion, nothing at all. But it left a wondering in my heart none the less as I watched the pale light on the floor, shadows flickering through it.

I shook myself – nothing would keep me, nothing at all…

It was after all only moonlight and shadows.

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_TBC___

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A/N: What do you think? Feedback please!


	3. Ruby Lights

Ruby Lights 

By Kyrri 

**Title:** Ruby Lights (Just so you know – I suck with titles. Anyone got any better ideas for something better and I'll gladly listen!) 

**Author:** Kyrri 

**Author's E-mail:** kyrrissean@hotmail.com

**Rating:** PG

**Series:** The King of Heats 

**Summary:** Wolverine has some time to think on things… Lets see what he figures out. 

**Disclaimer:** No, no! You can't make me – they're mine! All mine! Mwhahahah! *Representatives of Marvel Comics come towards me, baring a large black suitcase and a lawsuit* Fine already – so I don't own them. *Sobs and looks at representatives questioningly* Can't I at least have Remy's coat? *Takes the glares as a no* Fine, fine then! 

**Warnings:** Contains slash, male/male pairings. If you find this offensive don't read it! Hit the Back-button! Or the Cancel-button – as it is. Also – I'm sorry if the characters appear OOC – I tried to keep to what I know of them, but if I didn't manage… sorry! 

**Archive:** Ask and you shall receive. 

**Spoilers:** I haven't read a comic book in ages – so I have no clue what's currently going on – I can't spoil a thing… 

**Notes:** I don't really have anything very informative to say. So just read it already! ;)   


*************   
  


Dawn will be here in less than four hours… My own words echo back at me over the reaches of that very time span – dark and foreboding. I remember telling him that… I remember turning away. Then why does it feel like a lie now? 

As I watch the brilliant colour of the dawn play over the landscape, my thoughts pleasantly preoccupied by visions of burning coals and auburn locks, I listen to the shadows of memories. I listen to my own voice telling him to go to bed. My body betraying me – begging with every breath and movement to be allowed to follow. That he would want me to follow. 

It is a cruel world where I have to live such lies. Cruel indeed that one touch would spin my mind into the breath of a moment. That eternity can pass over and over again and cause such trivial things as time to turn to falsity. 

Four hours to relive the brush of a hand – the sensation of the little bird beating frantically against my chest as I hold the seraph close to me. Forever spun into the fabric of time that hung between four simple movements of one long arm. My words had indeed been a lie. Empires could have risen and fallen in the time it took the sun to rise. Four hours… I snorted in disbelief – four hours of eternity's worth of thought. 

The sky lightened slightly, midnight blue fighting to retain its presence, but steadily falling away before the lighter shades inspired by new beginnings. The right side of my mouth curves upwards in a small, ironical smile at the thought. The circling pathways of my mind had changed during the pre-dawn hours. Things were starting anew. 

The sky burned as I gazed upwards, the sun's climaxing rebirth, gifting fire to the heavens in brilliant shades of yellow and red, even as night fought to retain its hold – a black patch of starlit sky still maintaining its place at the edge of my sight. 

Red on black and burning – the wildfire in the sky searing new pathways of thought through my mind. Red on black and causing the demon eyes to dance before my sight again. I could not take this much longer – my desire for the Cajun was driving me insane. He haunted my every waking moment – left me no peace within the privacy of my own mind and things had gotten no better since I had resolved to take what I wanted. Things could only seem to get worse before they got better. 

I twisted the card between thumb and index finger – making it spin and flip over in my grasp as I ran my searching digits along it, my other hand lifting my cigar to my lips before I glanced down at it. 

It was a curious thing… I don't know why I kept it – I should have returned it along with the others, shoved securely into one of the pockets of Remy's trench coat. But I had not – I should have, but I hadn't. It was here and I was running my fingers along it – studying it as thought it held my very resolve. 

My eyes trailed across the red patterned back of the card before I flipped it over again, revealing the kingly, masked figure upon his throne. His crown sitting high upon his brow and delicately painted fingers curled around an ornately decorated sceptre. The single red heart in the left corner declaring its reign. Why had I kept it? 

It had been a fluke that this card should be the first that I would draw from the packet. It had been nothing but chance – I did not believe in signs or fate. It had been pure coincidence – nothing more… But some little part of me beat against the bars of reality I had wedged firmly into my mind. Some part of me wanted to believe in fate and all the other bits of nonsense that went along with it. Maybe that was why I kept the card – maybe that was the reason that small part of me had started to believe. 

I exhaled, sending a puff of smoke towards the fiery sunrise before I continued my scrutiny of the playing card – my mind was made up. I brushed my thumb over the shape in the corner – lightly caressing the small, red heart. I had every intention of getting what I want. 

I only wished with all my heart that he would give me what I want – it would make this so much easier, but I could not approach him now in a brass manner. It was time to go against my nature – to fight against my straining being and move slowly, patiently and deliberately. Subtlety was the key to winning this game. 

Slowly, I let the smoke fill my lungs again as I inhale, my eyes rising to watch the sunrise again as I gently push the card into one of the pockets of my jean. Remy was hurting – far more than he would ever admit, but I knew… I had seen it and I had felt it. 

I had watched his fire waver in the rain and I had held him as his entire body shook with silent tremors. I had seen and felt the silvery tears running down his pale cheeks into the dark fabric of my shirt and upon the stairs their memories still haunted his features in trails of shimmering moonlight. I had seen his efforts to hide what he felt and I had smelt his longing and despair when he could not. 

The angel had fallen and lay broken upon the shards of reality – another victim to the terror of misplaced love and hope. Broken and wary of the fall – wary of more heartache, but I would do everything in my power to spare him more grief. I would allow no one to hurt him ever again, but first I had to coax the demon-eyed seraph to trust again. I had to coax him to trust me. 

Birdsong invaded my senses as the sun finally rose over the horizon, sending a wash of bright light across the landscape, finally forcing the night to disappear in the final onslaught. My cigar had almost completely burned out and I dropped the stump onto the floor and crushed it beneath my booted foot after I exhaled the last of the smoke. 

My gaze dropped to the charred remains of the brown cigar on the floor and my thoughts pulled another memory from the recesses of my mind. Recalling to thought a similar picture and the apprehension it had filled me with. But things would be different now – the angel would be mine. I would protect him from the very things I now feared. 

Reality faced me as I glanced upwards at the now light blue sky and the sun stared down at me with its burning visage. The vastness stretched before me – empty of all things save that searing gaze. It would not be easy to achieve the Cajun's trust and somewhere in the enormity of the blue void that stretched before me lay what I needed to do just that. 

Somewhere on the horizon…but in the end I would have to turn my gaze to another place to find what I needed. The horizon stretched on forever and was unreachable, but maybe one needed to strive to reach it to touch the untouchably perfect Remy LeBeau. And I wanted to do far more than simply touch. 

Untouchable – the word echoes through my mind and I wonder at it. I had touched him – twice in fact and both moments had been stored for later recall – like precious stones to be taken out and admired, even if one was far less substantial than the other. 

I knew I was obsessed – I had known it long before last night or earlier this morning as it is, but to say that I am infatuated is an understatement. I would recall a mere brush of the hand as I handed him back his coat as a fond memory – I would torture myself by thinking that perhaps he had let his fingers linger longer than necessary before pulling them away. And I didn't say anything – merely turned and walked away… I turned my back on him again – I walked away… 

I hadn't known what to say – so I didn't say anything. I hadn't known what to do – so I didn't do anything. I merely left – turned and left, grinning like an idiot over the brush of a hand. That little voice in my head scolding me no end for it too. 

I turned round, tearing my eyes away from the horizon and moved back into the mansion, silently opening and closing the door behind me. The air within the hallway was still, calm and silent. Nothing moved within the mansion – it was so peaceful it seemed a sin to breath, a sin to disturb the early morning air. 

Mist drifted in front of me as I exhaled, my hot breath causing the white fog in the cold air and I rubbed my hands together quickly as I realized just how cold it really was. Briefly I wondered whether Iceman was awake and up to his usual tricks, but I immediately discarded that thought. You'd have to put fire to that kid's bed in order to get him up at this hour and considering his powers he might just freeze himself and roll over anyway. 

I moved slowly, watching the dawn light trickle through the windows and throw patches of warm colour on the wooden floor, heading towards the kitchen. A warm cup of coffee could only do me good and I had to do something or my thoughts would spin around in circles again. 

I glanced to the side as I entered the kitchen, my eyes focusing on the broom that lay curiously askew against the wall next to the door. Exactly the way I had left it after I cleaned the mess in the hall, for some reason to preoccupied to put it back in its rightful place. 

I snorted – some reason – the reason was only to clear to me. My thoughts had not been my own this morning – they belonged firmly and unwaveringly to the auburn-haired thief. There did not seem to be a single thing in the mansion that did not remind me of him in some small way. 

I closed my fingers around the handle of the broom, determined to put it away as I glanced down at the coarse bristles. Sunlight danced off of them, surprising me with an array of colour that flashed and glinted – causing rainbows to dance before my eyes. 

I tilted the broom upwards, bringing the bristles closer to my face as I studied the small pinpricks of golden light – some of the finer pieces of glass I had cleaned away with the bristles had imbedded themselves there – ranging from a fine silvery powder to more substantial pieces that reflected the early morning sunlight. 

It was a beautiful sight – the rainbow lights trickling softly through the rough spikes of fibre. I yearned to touch it – the astonishing sight beckoning me closer as I lifted my hand and trailed my fingertips lightly along the tiny pinpricks – shadows falling to cover the vanishing light. The bristles were wet beneath my fingers and I pulled my hand away, watching the red of my own blood stain the glistening points scarlet, making the play of light's beauty turn to something ghastly and sickening. I yanked my hand away reflexively and stared as the minute cuts healed instantly – leaving nothing but their memory as a sad reminder. 

I sucked at my fingers, removing even the fine red trails of dark memory from my sight and closed my eyes to the crimson lights. I wondered why they would disturb me so – it held no relevance to anything, but in my mind everything turned to take on a different meaning and though I swore to myself that I was not a superstitious person I took the ruby invasion as a warning. 

The seraph was broken, hurting and if I were to get close to him I would have to use caution and move slowly or I myself would bare the brunt of the next encounter of lost hope. I would break my own heart by pushing the Cajun to far. 

Beautiful but broken – the words spun through my mind. 

Wonderful and deadly – I told my yearning heart, hoping to calm the simple burning of want and need that rested there. 

I opened my eyes to watch the crimson lights as they danced through my sight, before I lowered the broom again and shoved it back into the closet. Approach with caution – the words echoed through my mind as I grinned. I had my work cut out for me. 

But still ruby lights danced before my eyes.   
  
  


TBC 

A/N: Just the usual – feedback please! 


	4. The Final Ray of Hope

The Final Ray of Hope 

By Kyrri

**Title:** The Final Ray of Hope 

**Author:** Kyrri 

**Author's E-mail:** kyrrissean@hotmail.com 

**Rating:** PG 

**Series:** The King of Heats 

**Summary:** Remy searches for the light to kill the darkness in his soul. 

**Disclaimer:** I'm not getting any money for writing this. I don't own the character however much I would like to – so please don't sue! (It would be silly of you to sue me anyway, seeing as all I have could probably fit into one not so large cardboard box.) 

**Warnings:** Contains slash, male/male pairings. If you find this offensive don't read it! Hit the Back-button! Or the Cancel-button – as it is. Also – I'm sorry if the characters appear OOC – I tried to keep to what I know of them, but if I didn't manage… sorry! 

**Archive:** Ask and you shall receive. 

*************   
  


Nothingness, oppressing soul-stealing nothingness holds me in its sway. Darkness surrounds me, encompasses and engulfs me, forcing my consciousness into a tiny pinprick of flame in its very centre and all the time the voices call to me. 

Shouting, screaming, crying out my name mixed with words of ghastly wickedness, choking my being – suffocating me with their very intensity. Trapping me there, binding me and tying me down with chains that no thief could ever hope to escape. Forcing me to live this half-life… caught within a flame. 

Forcing me to my knees as they tear away my very sanity, clawing and ripping – rending me helpless and bleeding upon the floor of this miserable void. 

No light ever penetrates this place – only the darkness and the voices. Always the voices – screaming in rage and terror and the soft pitter-patter of bare feet… running, forever racing away from the inevitable till they too are silenced with a bloodcurdling scream. Involuntarily my hands rise to my face, cupping my cheeks between them as I realize the cry is my own. My own horror and pain reflected in the high-pitched horrid melody as the scream rises and falls upon the air – ripping the thin fabric of dark reality to shreds. 

A strangled sob escapes me, torn away by the eerie melody of a myriad of voices lifted in screeching, painful song. I want to cry out – to shout – to let my voice mingle once again with the others… to silence them with my own horror. 

But I can't – silence escapes me as I take one gasping breath after the other, my nails scratching down my cheeks, leaving fiery marks in their wake as the oily darkness rushed down my throat. I can't move, I can't cry out – I can do nothing and the voices berate me for it, whispering their cruel words in my ears, making the trails of fire across my cheeks burn more hotly as they remind me of what I have done. They'll never let me forget! 

"I didn't know – I tried – I didn't know!" I repeat to myself, seeking to find the truth in my silent litany, seeking to find escape   
from the voices that are burning their way into my mind – consuming me from the inside out. 

How desperately I want to escape them, need to escape them – if only for a little while. I want to make them go away, but the fact remains that I cannot – they will haunt me forever in this darkened void. They will always be there reminding me of my failure – I should have tried harder – I should have saved them – it's all my fault. 

It's all my fault – the thought echoes back at me, as if across a great distance. Everything is my fault, but I had tried to make it   
better – I had tried to fight back. I'd managed to save the child, even if she was only one among many. The only one I had not failed – my only ray of light. 

But in this place that light cannot reach me – will not reach me… refused to stretch across the darkness as I bury myself in guilt and self-loathing. 

I shiver as the arctic wind surrounds me, raising goose bumps on my flesh and making my breath freeze upon the air before me. I can't see it. The darkness blinds me, steals my sight, but I know it's there. I can feel the ice as though it is touching me – tracing icy patterns across my skin. I can feel it and it seems to burn with some facsimile of life, it seems almost malicious in its imitation. 

Death – I can feel it as I take one searing breath after the other – the darkness only serving to make it seem even colder as I pull myself into a small ball and curl up upon this merciless plane of thought. The voices still singing to me – telling me that I have no right to life, telling me that they will welcome me to them soon. Soon there will be nothing left… 

The wind chills me to the bone as it plays with my hair, caressing it with something akin to joy – welcoming me to an eternity of icy whiteness whilst my eyes can see only darkening night. Welcoming me to the end of my journey, for surely I would soon join the phantom voices in their dance with the zephyr. And then it would all cease to exist… I'd be free. 

Gray… between black and white you find gray… nothing simply crisp or clear – no route that's perfectly right or wrong. No `yes' or `no' – just gray and turmoil. What to do… what to want… what do I deserve? 

Night or day? Neither can be considered the right answer, but this… 

I fight against the raging cold, trying to shut the voices out, trying desperately to warm my aching bones – I don't want it to end   
like this! I want to live, to cast aside their justice. Guilty… I know my shame well and they have judged me for my crimes, abandoning me to the frozen wastes. She left me here. They all left me in the end. 

"Come back," I plead. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me here." But there is no one to hear the words that are torn from my parched throat even the voices have left me now. Rogue has left me here to die. They have all left me." 

I'm falling now – spinning away into unconsciousness – the cold winning this final battle, as I lay shattered upon the icy darkness. As my thoughts shred the final piece of hope in my soul into a million fragments and scatters it upon the arctic wind. "I love you." 

But there is no force behind my words, they had been true once, now they only sound empty, hollow to my ears and echoing dimly with something I will never have. 

I don't have the energy to fight anymore. I'm tired and alone. Alone in the darkness. 

I raise my eyes to what I think is the horizon, but nothing distinguished it form the rest and I cannot be sure. Names, faces,   
snatches of sentences surrounds me and the laughter. When had it started? I didn't know anymore. It resonated through the air, impious in its clarity and hatred, recalling her face to my mind. She is laughing at me, her eyes sparkling with amusement at my suffering, as I look up at her in silence. 

The world expands, changes, twists and turns and I fall forward, my senses wrapped in vicious laughter until everything comes to an immediate stop and I am jerked awake. 

I force myself to take deep, slow breaths. And, remembering the   
burning pain as I raked them with my nails, I gingerly lift my fingers towards my cheeks, brushing over them softly. It had just been a dream. There were no fiery trails scorching their way down my cheeks. But even as I tell myself that the pain of the scratched marks across my cheeks, had merely been part of the nightmare, I find it hard to believe that I am awake now and that this isn't just more cunning imagery spun by the dream to keep me firmly in its embrace. 

Briefly I close my eyes and take another breath. Even my subconscious would not spin this lie. My mind would not imagine the thin trail of sunlight shining from beneath the blinds, nor would it think to bring me to the mansion when it had the slopes of Antarctica to work with for inspiration. A single shiver runs down my spine at the thought – I can imagine far worse things than waking up at the mansion and the truth of that is the only thing that makes me realize that I am truly awake. 

Grimly, I peal the sheets away from my body and swing my legs out of bed, groaning as the movement makes my temples throb violently. The room starts spinning, and I silently curse under my breath. This was just lovely. 

Ignoring the rapid twirling of all my material possessions I push myself unsteadily to my feet and take a step towards the bathroom. I groan as the world mocks my attempts to set it aright by spinning more chaotically and come to a stop, lifting my hands to my face and closing my eyes against the assault of frenzied colour. This was simply no good – I had to reach that bathroom so that I could wake up enough to go downstairs. 

Cautiously, I open my eyes again and let them trail over my surroundings. The door to the bathroom stands open invitingly less than four feet away. Now if only I could cross that distance without having to watch the circular dance of all the inanimate objects in the room. 

I let my gaze fall to the floor and grimace. My dirty laundry spread out across the carpet and the broken glass from the mirror I had shattered scattered laying between the fine material. How could I have allowed it to go this far? But my lack of energy answers the question for me – I do not have the will to fight anymore, I don't even have the will to keep my room in good order. 

I slowly lift my head and focus on the bathroom door once more. Things have gotten out of hand indeed but it does not matter. I will be leaving this place soon – there is nothing to hold me here, after all. The mansion is no longer my home. 

I move into the bathroom, open the faucet and splash water onto my face. This place is just an empty shell – the hope I had felt upon the first day of coming here with Stormy having fled. The hope of being accepted broken and laying in dismal disarray – much like my room at the moment. 

The reflection in the mirror calls my gaze upwards as I search out the eyes of my mirror image – as I search for the strangely dancing coals and find instead only the dead bleakness of black ash. Whoever said that ones eyes are the windows to ones soul must have been smarter than he was given credit for – the eyes that stare back at me now reflect every tumultuous fall into depression I have suffered since Antarctica. Every shred of guilt and self-loathing displayed for all to see in the desolation of the once fiery gaze. 

I swallow convulsively, trying to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth – I did not like what I saw. I have the urge to shatter this   
mirror as I had done with the one in my room, but I stop myself, clenching my fist tightly – I have enough bad luck to deal with as it is. 

Resolutely, I turn my back on the mirror, refusing to dwell on what I have just seen reflected there and I strip and climb into the shower. I rest my forehead against cool tiles as the warm water cascades down my back. 

I open my eyes again, studying the tiles until a glimmering light just at the edge of my vision draws my attention. I turn my head to the side to better study it and catch my breath at the rainbow of colour presented by the glistening spray – water like tiny teardrops against the tiles reflecting the thin streak of sunlight that penetrates the barrier of the blinds. 

I study the thin trail of dancing light, letting the living colour seep into my aching soul as the darkness surrounded me. I had never bothered to turn on a light, my eyes being sharp enough to see in the shadowy room. I stand there staring, not even noticing when the water starts to turn cold as I exhaust the hot-water supply. 

But this thin ray valiantly keeping night at bay wasn't enough – it wasn't enough to pull me from my depression. Even in waking the nightmare would not leave me, reminding me of my second exile, my punishment – there was no shining light to help me from the dark maze of my misery – no matter how bright this glistening sun-streak. I was trapped and would remain so – my light – my hope had fled. 

And so it was that I climbed out of the shower with a heavy heart, moving like a sleepwalker as I dried myself off and got dressed before exiting my room. I just had the presence of mind to grab my sunglasses off the bedside table before I stepped into the blinding glare of the hallway, slipping them on to guard my sensitive eyes. 

The corridor stretched before me, somehow oppressing – the light of day serving only to remind me of what I had lost – serving only to bring visions to my mind of dancing rainbows and an ever-present looming shadow that encased even that small phantom whisper of hope in darkening night. 

I didn't even notice as I descended the stairs – didn't take in anything of my surroundings – my mind focused solely on the darkness within my soul. Dazedly I made my way to the kitchen until my mind was suddenly filled with apprehension. 

The sent of cigar smoke hung thickly in the air, coming from the kitchen – wafting through the door as I stood on the threshold, frozen – unable to move. 

I fought the urge to turn around – I had to face him sooner or later. But what would he think of me after last night? Would he hate me like all the others? Hate me as I hated myself? I closed my eyes – I didn't think I would be able to bear it if Logan joined that list. 

But from somewhere in my mind a memory drifts to the surface. Of a tight embrace, of gentle fingers running soothingly up and down my back, caressing my muscles and forcing them to relax, of a whispered promise that meant more than anything ever could. "No, Remy, I could never hate you, never!" 

My lips curve into a small smile – the very act of smiling seeming strange because of its recent infrequency. Logan wouldn't hate me for last night's display of weakness in front of the rec room. He wouldn't – he had said so and I trusted him. I was surprised at the thought, but the smile deepened as I realized that it was true. I trusted him. 

The sun glittered off my sunglasses, sending reflected rainbows dancing against the wall. 

Maybe, just maybe…   
  


TBC 

A/N: Feedback – please, pretty please!


	5. Threading Softly

Threading Softly  
  
By Kyrri  
  
Title: Threading Softly Author: Kyrri Author's E-mail: kyrrissean@hotmail.com Rating: PG Series: The King of Hearts. (Part 5) Summary: Logan gets worried about Remy all over again over the morning newspaper. (I suck at summaries and I know it!) Disclaimer: What do you mean they're not mine? Of course they're mine! *takes back her comic books from nasty person who's trying to steal them* As for Logan, Remy and the rest of the X-Men. I have absolutely no claim to them. *sob* Warnings: Um. slash, m/m pairings etc. No character death so that's got to count for something. Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Notes: I can't write accents, but I tried anyway - so please don't kill me. I know they might not be consistent, but I did try!  
  
***********  
  
Threading Softly By Kyrri  
  
My ears prick at the light creak of wooden boards outside the kitchen door as I unfold the newspaper and focus on the black letter work. The X-Men were in the news again - front page. Jeannie will probably want it for her collection. We'd been doing this for so long but she still cuts out every article to be displayed in all its glory on the locker-room wall.  
  
A deep intake of breath from outside the door as I turn the page. The X- Men articles don't really interest me anymore - why read about something you've lived through? Besides - he hadn't been there. Gambit hadn't been cleared for any missions in quite a while now.  
  
More slow breaths can be heard from the other side of the door. The lack of missions to hold his attention must be driving the kid insane. I'd seen him threatening Hank to get himself back onto the actives list, but McCoy isn't likely to do anything before Remy agrees to a physical. As if that's going to happen anytime soon.  
  
I turn the page, listening to the kid breathe - in, out, in, out. What is he waiting for? Is he going to come in or leave? The paper rustles as I turn the page again. He'd better make up his mind soon or I'll do it for him.  
  
The pages stick together and I impatiently pull them apart, growling under my breath, as I continue to page through the newspaper, before taking the cigar I had been puffing on out of my mouth and crushing it in the ashtray on the kitchen table.  
  
I lean back again, placing both feet on the table, before focusing on the paper once more. Maybe there will be something interesting in the sports section. The door creaks as it is pushed inwards, swinging towards me and revealing the Cajun's lean form. My attention is immediately diverted from the latest hockey scores to Remy, but I try not to make it to obvious.  
  
"Morning," I grunt as I watch him over the top of the paper. His eyes immediately fly to the clock and even those sunglasses of his can't hide the fact that they widen in shock. "Bit early for ya to be up, ain't it, kid?" It wasn't really that early, just somewhere after ten, but Gumbo doesn't usually breeze in before noon.  
  
The kid smiles slightly as he replies. "Non, Gambit non up yet an' 'e won' be 'til 'e gets his hands on the coffee pot." At least I got a bit of a smile out of him - more genuine than any I've seen in weeks. His words become actions as he moves to the counter and lifts the lid of the coffee maker. "Who made today's batch?"  
  
"Bishop," I answer only to see his brow crinkles into a frown. A gurgling sound as the contents of the pot go down the drain. I guess Remy shares my opinion of Bishop's coffee  
  
Silence as he goes about making a new batch, just the soft rustling of cloth as he moves behind me. The sound of the faucet opening and closing again once he's done, the hum of the kettle and a tap-tap of his fingers against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. Then finally, after long seconds that seem to last forever, the smell of coffee as he pours himself a cup.  
  
I shake my head in disgust when I realize I've been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes and still don't have a clue as to what it's about. Trust the kid to be a distraction without even trying.  
  
I force myself to focus on the paper and get halfway through the paragraph when part of the paper is pulled from my hands. Startled, I look up and directly into a pair of demon red eyes, only partially hidden behind the dark lenses, and an impish grin.  
  
"Gambit, he just take the business section off of ya hands, if ya don't mind, homme."  
  
He's sitting on the counter before I can even open my mouth to reply, one leg swinging down as he rests the paper he had stolen against the knee of his other leg which he had pulled up onto the counter. His coffee cup rests close at hand by his side and he gives me a wink before turning to the paper.  
  
"Be my guest." I reply sarcastically as I shake my head, all the while chiding myself for letting him sneak up on me. But then I remember why he'd been able to do it. Hadn't I been reprimanding myself for paying too much attention only a moment before?  
  
I can't seem to force myself to concentrate on the paper, even though I try. My mind keeps drifting to the Cajun. And every now and then I indulge myself and let myself watch him out of the corner of my eye. Putting a picture to the sound of the pages rustling and the coffee cup being lifted from the counter and sipped from.  
  
The paper stops rustling as he pulls off his sunglasses and he closes his eyes, pressing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, almost as though the light is still too bright even with the protection of his shades. He replaces them a moment later, before his gaze settles on me.  
  
"Somethin' the matter, homme?" he asks, softly and I realize that I had been staring openly. Quickly I brush it off, righting the newspaper and turning back to it, saying the first thing I can think of, not even daring to think what I'm getting myself into, especially with my mind being in its current Cajun-induced daze.  
  
"Nah, just wondering if ya wanna hit Harry's tonight, kid? We haven't been there in a while." Inwardly I curse myself, but I can't help the giddy little feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach at his answer.  
  
"Remy'd like that, mon ami." And the soft little whisper I'm sure was meant only for himself, but which I heard anyway. "I'd like that a lot." I smile at that, maybe I'd even get him out of the habit of referring to himself in third person. I know I could do it, if only I could stop him from pretending to be the backwaters little brat I know he isn't.  
  
"Okay, then, it's a date." I say as I turn back to the paper and try to focus on the elusive contents of the paragraph I was reading again. But now I have something new to occupy my thoughts and it has everything to do with the kid and nothing to do with anything that could legally be printed in any newspaper.  
  
A light thud as the Remy slides off the counter, followed by the rustling of paper and soft footsteps as the kid moves to the door. "Sure thin', mon ami. See you round seven den." I can practically hear him grin and when I look up it only confirms my suspicions. I nod and see the grin deepen before the kid disappears through the door, letting it swing shut behind him.  
  
I shift in my chair and place my feet back on the ground as I drop the newspaper onto the kitchen table. I flip Remy's card out of my back jean pocket one-handed. The King of Hearts stared up at me, his sword at his neck.  
  
"Why do I have the feeling they don't call you the suicide king for nothing?" I ask the card as it rests in the palm of my hand. Silence answers me and I settle the card in my pocket again, before getting up.  
  
I don't even realize what I'm doing as I head for the door and push it open. I follow the kid's scent without thinking. It takes me up the stairs and down the hall to the door to his room.  
  
But the scent didn't stop there - he'd continued towards the open window at the end of the hall. The roof, of course - where else? But I wasn't planning to climb up the drainpipe after him. I had an altogether different goal.  
  
My gaze shifted to the window again. He wouldn't be coming down for a while - he'd just gone up. I wouldn't expect him to be back in the mansion for at least an hour. Briefly I wonder when I had started paying such attention to the Cajun that I could estimate how long he'd be up on the roof before coming down.  
  
I glanced back at the door and studied the wood. Something was eating at Remy. This bout of depression had been going on too long. I could still smell the sadness in his scent. The flirtatious smile and charm he put on to try and convince me otherwise did nothing to mask it. The nose knows. it always does.  
  
I also knew that something had to be done and I'd do everything I had to to help him. Suppressing any qualms, I turn the knob and push my way inside.  
  
Its dark inside, but a thin trail of light that has managed to push its way below the blinds and the light streaming in from the open door behind me serves to chase away some of the gloom, but the shadows still lay heavily around the room, and obscures my vision.  
  
But the shadows aren't enough to hide the fact that Remy's room is in chaos.  
  
The smell alone is enough to make me cringe; there must be at least two weeks of dirty laundry on the floor. Shards of glass glitter between the thick fabric of the carpet as the light filters into the room.  
  
Alcohol, cigarettes, scorch - my head reels under the onslaught of the different scents, playing havoc with my enhanced senses and all the while the shadow presses in against me.  
  
I take a step back, out of his room, into the relatively fresh air of the hallway, but the smells stay with me. What could possibly be wrong with Remy for him to do something like this? This wasn't like him at all - the Cajun was always neat, almost to the point of obsession. And for him to have actually destroyed one of his precious baubles...  
  
I close the door on the wreckage of Gambit's room. My thoughts are a chaotic jumble as I try to process what I had discovered. Despair, the room reeked of it.  
  
I glance at the window. What did he think of out there? Sitting alone on the roof. Did he ever think of spreading those angel's wings I imagine him with and flying for the three or so seconds it would take his body to reach the ground. I close my eyes, frightened by my own imaginings.  
  
This wasn't right. Remy shouldn't have to go through this, not alone. And the X-Men were supposed to be there for him. We were supposed to be his family and we'd deserted him. Well, that was going to stop right now. I wouldn't stand by and watch another tear leave those demon eyes while Remy hides behind an angelic smile.  
  
I wouldn't stand by and watch while Remy destroys himself. I simply wouldn't.  
  
I'd drag the kid to Harry's tonight. Try to drag some answers out of him and hopefully not scare him off. Might even see if I could get a glimpse of the angel I knew hid behind the devil's eyes. Not likely if I was going to get the kid drunk to get my answers.  
  
Silently I move away from the door and back down the stairs. I'd retreat for now, but tonight I was going to stake my claim. Tonight I'd show the Cajun that he wasn't alone. Tonight.  
  
I'd walk where X-Men fear to tread.  
  
TBC 


	6. Of Thieves and Kings

Title: Of Thieves and Kings Author: Kyrri Author's E-mail: kyrrissean@hotmail.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Series: The King of Hearts. (Part 6) Summary: Logan gets more than he bargained for. Disclaimer: They're not mine! They belong to Marvel! Get it? Got it? So please stop rubbing it in already! Warnings: slash, m/m pairings etc. but you already knew that. Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Notes: I can't write accents, but I tried anyway - so please don't kill me. I know they might not be consistent, but I did try!  
**********  
  
Of Thieves and Kings  
  
The pool-cue in my hands seems to have a life of its own as it impacts with the ball, sending it racing across the green field. It connects with its partner, sending it spinning towards the corner pocket.  
  
Perfect. except for the fact that it hits the side, missing the pocket by a hair's breath.  
  
'Merde!' I shake my head, staring at the pocket in disbelief. I shouldn't have missed that shot. The balls where perfectly aligned.  
  
A low whistle pierces the air and I glance up at Logan where he's leaning on his pool-cue, studying me. "Where'd ya go, kid? Ya've been missing easy shots all night."  
  
Slowly I shake my head, as I trail nervous fingers down my own cue. "Sorry, Logan, Remy ain't 'xactly been great company tonight."  
  
"Nah, kid, it's fine," an amused smile and he shrugs. "'Sides I'm not saying that beating yer ass into the ground five times in a row doesn't have its perks."  
  
I meet his gaze at that, cracking a grin of my own as I allow auburn bangs to fall into my eyes, even though I don't really feel like smiling. But we must uphold our reputation, musn't we?  
  
"Savour the moment, old man. It ain't gonna happen 'gain."  
  
"Well, it ain't gonna happen now," he answers, before taking a long swallow of beer. "Think we'll save ya from further embarrassment tonight and I'll take ya up on that challenge after ya can shoot straight again."  
  
"Remy can shoot straight." I reply, chagrined and entirely aware of how childish it sounds, but in no position to care.  
  
Logan just glances from me to the pool table and back, his silence making his point far better than words could ever do. Tonight just isn't my night.  
  
And it isn't just tonight. This isn't my week, my month, my year and so on and so forth. In fact I don't think it's ever been my day. My life seems to consist of a series of mishaps, moving from one to another, day by day and slowly building towards that inevitable crescendo of misfortune. Not that Rogue would see it that way. even with me in her head.  
  
Calloused fingers brush softly against my hands as Logan removes the cue from them, before putting it away in its hook against the wall. "Come on, Gumbo," he says, taking me by the elbow and steering me towards one of the tables against the wall. "Let's get you another drink. At least that'll give you a reason to zone out on me."  
  
And after pressing me into a chair, he's off to get said drink, leaving me to 'zone out' further, as Logan so aptly phrased it.  
  
**********  
  
Something's terribly wrong with the kid; you'd have to be blind not to see it. Unfortunately that's exactly what most of the X-Men are, they see only what they want to see, when they want to see it. I think it's about time I rub their noses in it.  
  
I fetch the drinks from the bar, saying a gruff thank you to Harry, before moving back to the table. Remy's back in his own private little world. He's been doing that the entire night - just phasing out, blissfully unaware of anything that might be going on around him.  
  
I set the drink down in front of him with a click and watch his shocked expression as he comes out of his trance, before moving round the table and taking the seat opposite him. Silence follows as he sits there, staring down into his glass as I study him, before I decide that I've had enough.  
  
"What's eating ya, kid?"  
  
He glances up at me, shocked. "Rien," he replies, slowly, but I know he's lying. I can smell it on him.  
  
"Don't give me that, Gumbo. Something's wrong and I wanna know what."  
  
"Don't wanna talk 'bout it," he answers, glancing away, not meeting my gaze.  
  
"Come on kid, ya can trust me." I try again, even though I'm not exactly sure this plea will work. As far as I know the kid doesn't trust anyone and not without good reason.  
  
"Gambit doesn't trust anyone." He states firmly, the garnet of his eyes burning slightly as he deigns to meet my gaze again. Why is it the answer you expect is exactly the one you don't want?  
  
Gambit. not Remy. Progress, bah. now we're moving backwards. Give it a few more moments and he'll kill this conversation. I can see it in his eyes. Unless.  
  
"Yeah, kid. I know that. But who does Remy trust?" I ask; meeting his burning gaze firmly and watching the surprise grow in them, followed by a small smile. Just a quirk of his lips, but it's a smile none the less.  
  
"Remy." he begins, before stopping and looking down at his drink. He sighs before looking back up at me. "I trust you Logan. You've always watched my back." he starts, but I don't let him take it any further. I know where that would lead. Just a different way of changing the subject. Not tonight, though.  
  
"Then trust me. Let me watch yer front for once, Remy."  
  
I can see he's considering this. I don't exactly know when he crumpled or how long he just sat there staring at me, but when he did I saw something break. Or maybe I should say that he trusted me enough to let me see something break.  
  
The kid never lets you see anything he doesn't want you to see. If I know anything about Remy it's that and that getting him to tell you what he doesn't want you to know is a real uphill battle. Looks like I won today. Or maybe he's just given up entirely.  
  
"Everyone looks, but nobody sees, Logan." Remy says softly. "Nobody cares enough to see."  
  
I shake my head at that. "What about Storm?" I want to shout what about me, but hold back. "She cares, kid. She loves you like a brother."  
  
"Oui, Stormy, she cares 'bout this boy, but she feels so guilty. She won't look me in the eye. Know I've never been real close to any of the others, but none of them will look me in the eye and it's killin' me. Their guilt is eatin' me alive. Can't escape it, Logan. It's like it's seeped into the walls. The entire Mansion feels. " he stops and shakes his head. Suddenly his drink seems real interesting again.  
  
"Remy, the guilt's their problem. Ya shouldn't make it yers. Ya can't let their feelings hurt ya like this." I reach over the table and place my hand on his arm, causing him to look up at me.  
  
Empty eyes stare at me, the red having entirely fled as a crooked grin spreads across his features and he chuckles causing the room temperature to drop. "Their feelings shouldn't hurt me, should they?" he whispers, before glancing at my hand still resting on his arm.  
  
Ebony eyes meet my gaze again, before I feel it. It is just a light pressure on my mind, but I recognise it as telepathic in nature and then it hits me. A bundle of emotions so strong, I nearly cry out. Guilt, pain, anger, pity - all rolled into one and forced past any shielding I might have.  
  
I see him talking. Remy is saying something, but I can't hear him. All I can think about are those emotions and how I want them gone. How I need them gone. The animal in me howls, its hackles rising and then the emotions disappear as quickly as they came and I can hear the kid again.  
  
"Non, Logan. It doesn't hurt, does it? It shouldn't, should it? But it does and nobody knows." He is staring down at the table, one finger idly tracing the mark of liquid that his glass left after he moved it. "Nobody cares." He whispers, as demonic eyes glance up at me again, like they're begging me to say something. anything. But what can I say?  
  
Silently, I close my hand over his, halting the idle movement, before doing exactly what I have imagined for so long. I kiss him. I show him that I care when I don't have the words to tell him. And the funny thing is. he kisses me back.  
  
He. the seraph with the demon eyes and the innocent soul; he. the charming thief with the intoxicating smile is kissing me. Me. Me - the monster, who can barely control his own inner demons; me - the unworthy one. He's kissing me.  
  
And it's heaven. A small moan escapes him as he parts his lips and lets me in and I revel in it. The animal in me quiet for once, or maybe he's enjoying this as much as I am.  
  
I've wanted him so badly, wanted to do this so badly for so long and now. Wet fingers trail lightly down my jaw-line, leaving behind the sharp smell of alcohol and I pull away slightly, just staring at those beautiful eyes, trying to gather my wits once more.  
  
A soft smile plays across those angelic features and turns my world alight. I can hear his heart fluttering against his chest, or is that mine? "Thank you, Logan, I needed that."  
  
"Remy, I." I start; desperately trying to express what I'm feeling. What I want. What I want more than life itself, but he presses his forefinger to my lips, quietening me.  
  
"I know. Remember." He taps his forehead. "Know what you feel, even if you can't put the words to it. I know."  
  
I nod. "Yeah, kid, 'bout that. Why ya never tell anyone?"  
  
"No one asked, cher." He says, still smiling.  
  
"And ya would have answered if they did?" I ask, suspiciously.  
  
"Non, might have dropped a couple o' hints tho." He replies, nonchalantly, still flashing that charming grin.  
  
"Anything else ya hiding that I should know about?"  
  
"P'etetre."  
  
"Yer not gonna tell me?"  
  
"I might, if the price is right."  
  
"And by that ya mean."  
  
"Don' worry, Wolvie. Ain't plannin' anything you won' like." His eyes dance as he says it and his smile turns secretive and promising, making me wonder what exactly I have gotten myself into.  
  
**********  
  
I know he's there - I can smell him. Smell that distinctively intoxicating scent that only the Cajun has - alcohol, cigarette smoke and that touch of French cologne mixed with the smell of warm flesh and blood. It's enough to drive me insane.  
  
I want him - want to reach out and touch him; run my fingers through those auburn locks. To pull him close and hold him tight - never let him go. To have everything, to take everything - to make him mine.  
  
A warm body presses itself up against me, snuggling closer as soft locks fall onto my shoulder. Tenderly, I caress those silky strands, holding Remy as he sleeps and loving every second of it.  
  
Who would have thought it? I've succeeded and I can still hardly believe it. I can't sleep; I won't close my eyes. I'm too afraid that if I close them he'd be gone.  
  
There's a soft sigh emanating from just below my shoulder, before a drowsy voice says: "Go to sleep, mon amour." And reassured I do. holding my newfound lover close to me. My angel, my devil, my soul mate - my everything.  
  
So now. let no one say that Wolverine isn't the King of Hearts.  
  
End. 


End file.
